


Difference

by fish_in_fridge



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brother Feels, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, It is good to have Finarfin for brother, Sibling Rivalry, Sword unsheathing and aftermath, almost dialogue throughout, but maybe not as good to be in his shoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_in_fridge/pseuds/fish_in_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingolfin and Finarfin's long talk after the sword incident, and where the two brother's difference lies when they come to terms with Finwë's favourism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference

As the second son of the King marched into the gathering throng in larger strides than he usually paced with, everyone took a step back to make way for him. Nolofinwë saw many bewildered eyes and dropped jaws upon the faces he knew very well and those he knew not that well, and heard the previous lately restored whispers turn to dead silence as he marched on, though his sharp ears were able to catch a few hushed words from a decent distance. Whispers or none, he didn’t really care, though he personally was not in the mood for conversation or company. This must have been somehow written in his demeanor, even though his face was perfectly expressionless, for the elder of his sons, who were as wild-eyed as anyone around them, had caught his hint and made no approach to him. The girl and the youngest boy were less perceptive, though no less loving; these two tried to walk up to him, ask after him, and embrace him, but Nolofinwë gestured a “later for this” sign and stopped them. He felt sorry for these children, all the four of them: what had just now happened to him was really not for his children to see. Yet it did happen and they had witnessed it all, and for the time being Nolofinwë couldn’t trust himself a fair, candid exchange of words and opinions with his beloved kids.

When his eyes caught the golden tresses of his brother Arafinwë, his firm rejection to all attempts for conversation was somehow softened. Among all the family members that he knew of, this brother had a most unique talent, and a short walk and talk with him could really do Nolofinwë much benefit in most unexpected ways. The elder brother knew this well enough, and expressed as much, though not in words, as the younger gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Nolofinwë allowed a friendly squeeze on his shoulder before both Princes stepped away quietly from the throng.

For a while the brothers kept their silence, allowing the air to flow more freely around them. The atmosphere had been stuffy, and neither could deny that it had a part in setting a barrier to their words. Nolofinwë didn’t want Arafinwë ask him whether he was well, which Arafinwë thankfully didn’t do; nor did Arafinwë expressed or indicated how surprised he had been at the sight of Fëanáro’s threatening Nolofinwë with a sharp blade. Instead he asked, a little tentatively, if the two had had a bad quarrel.

“Not really. Fëanáro did demand me to be gone, and to find my due place, as he pointed his sword at me in the presence of our father. I didn’t talk back. It would be no use, anyway. I merely left.” Nolofinwë gave his answer, as truthful and emotionless as he could manage.

“And what happened in front of father’s doors was a second drawing of his blade?” asked Arafinwë, much concerned.

“Indeed.”

“I wish it has never happened that bad.”

“So do I. Truth to be told, Ara, even the one being threatened by a sword is still finding it difficult to make sense of what has come to pass.”

Arafinwë gave his brother another firm squeeze on the shoulder, hoping it to be reassuring and hoping against that hope at the same time.

“Matters as grave as such cannot be left untreated. Everyone, I mean at least half the city, has born eye-witness to the happening. Everyone would wonder at our brother’s abnormal act.”

“Wish so. But I can’t bring myself to appreciate the result of whatever treatment, if Father is to be involved, which he surely is. You weren’t there, Ara, and you didn’t see Father’s face! His eyes, his brows, his... his look!” Nolofinwë turned, and looked Arafinwë right in his eyes, yet not really seeing him. His gaze fell far beyond his brother, on the distant facade of King Finwë’s house.

“I understand your concern, Nolo,” said Arafinwë with a little smile, which conveyed no mirth but profound pity. “Fëanáro is Father’s favourite, which is nothing new to both of us. But perchance Justice could be brought from outside the House of Finwë this time. I believe words will reach the inner lands, to the more impartial ears.”

Nolofinwë shifted his gaze so that now he was really looking at his brother, and returned the smile is a more affirming fashion. “If that should come to place, it would be the best for all of us that I can hope of.” After a wistful sigh, and fading of that smile, he added, “I don’t want Fëanáro to be trialed too harshly or treated too unfriendly, for after all he is a brother of mine. Yet as a brother of mine, and a son of our father, Fëanáro really needs some teaching about his 'due place', instead of throwing all the place talk at me. For all these years he has been asking for this and that out of our people, talking in a tone of such urge and such authority as only befit a king. And our King and Father is being none too helpful, allowing his eldest son to take all the advantage he has to offer. I love our father and respect his kingly judgments for so long, and have expected better of him, yet what I have seen in his throne room has confirmed everything. Out of love Finwë has blindly submitted himself to Fëanáro’s whim, forgetting why the Noldor are here and who led them in the first place. And such love he has never given to his other children. If I have doubted, now I doubt no more, that the King would surely drive you and me and our mother and sisters out of Tirion where we rightfully belong, as long as Fëanáro pushed him hard enough.”

For a time the brothers were simply looking at each other, Nolofinwë with a grave look, and Arafinwë with his waverer eyes. They stood very still, like the air around them. No breeze came as long as the silence lasted.

“That, my brother, will not come to pass,” said Arafinwë at the first rustle of the nearby leaves, “It cannot be permitted. A threat is just a threat, and a rumour a rumour. Prince Fëanáro knows his bounds, and the King has his senses.”

“The King that we always knew had kept his good senses so far, before he saw the blade unsheathed. As for the Father, it occurs to me that whatever senses within him cannot stop him from spoiling his first-born, nor can he resist the power of Fëanáro’s words. Pity! For Prince Fëanáro indeed knows no bounds, since pointing a sharpened object at his brother (or ‘half-brother’, as he insists), is certainly a violation of all the laws and rules in this Blessed Realm that I know of. And should that happen for the third time, and should the term 'due place' come within my hearing again, I will... I will have none of them...”

Again Arafinwë reached out, and this time his hand touched his brother’s shaking arm. “Calm down, Nolo, and please don’t let yourself get too upset with what you saw or heard. Rumours are just rumours, as I said, for the most important tale is always omitted in rumours. Certainly our father loves Fëanáro very dearly, and his mother. Yet at the same moment Father loves you and me, and Mother, and Findis and Lalwen as well. Parental love asks for no proof, spoken, written or acted out.”

“Unconditional as it is, yet our father’s love is never evenly distributed. Fëanáro’s share of it is richer that what you and I and our sisters get put together. Sometimes I really find it hard to take, knowing it is not fairly given. As a son of Finwë and a prince of the Noldor, I do want my love returned by Father, and my dedication to my position, my cause and our people appraised by my King. I want Fëanáro look upon me as his brother, as a fellow Prince who should have as much say in the court as he does, and the right to rebuke him if he gives a wrong counsel... as his equal I want to be...” With his last words Nolofinwë lowered his gaze, and tried, half-heartedly, to shake off his brother’s hands, for Arafinwë had by now had both hands gripping at his elbows. With a jerk Nolofinwë looked up and into Arafinwë’s eyes a day, with a desperation that was rare in him. “Tell me, Ara, how have you born it so well? You have suffered neglect and despise as much as I do, yet you take everything lightly and feel no loss inside you even as your birthright is infringed. How do you manage it?”

Arafinwë frowned and swallowed before he answered his brother, “Even I can not ‘feel no loss’, Nolo. It happens, and hurts, say when I saw Father rushing to Fëanáro as he came back from travel, and giving him all those hugs and kisses, while he sometimes forgot answer my greeting when we met in the hallway. As an Elfling I wanted the same attention, too. It took me years to realize that Father was not loving me as much as he did Fëanáro, and would probably never love me that intensively. Mother told me as much. Yet as she did so she also bade me never question Father’s for me, nor make futile attempts to get Fëanáro’s attention, which would simply not come, but she suggested me to try my best to understand them both. Later I take that situation as a matter of fact, way beyond my power to change or improve. And as I’ve stopped expecting for more, I no longer get disappointed.” Arafinwë showed a little lopsided smile as he closed his sentence.

“You do? But what loss you have suffered from that... that attitude of surrender?” Nolofinwë was now wearing genuine shock in his face, which didn’t fall on him even when he was threatened by Fëanáro. “I’m sorry to hear that, brother... It, it must hurt badly... You just don’t feel it right now...”

“Oh, but you asked for it,” Arafinwë said sheepishly, “And anyway, it is not my place to convince you into taking that ‘attitude of surrender’ if that hurts you really badly. We are kind of different, after all. And by the way, when I am really downcast, I’d try my best to think of the beach where Eärwen and I met, where we sent splashes of sea water at each other. You must have similar memories, Nolo, though I don’t know what they are, for you’re married before my birth. And I think of Artanis’ present as often, the stuffed linen dolls she made for me and Eärwen, on our respective begetting days. She sewed her own hair to the dolls’ heads, to make them brilliant. You can really use the memory of such heartening presents when you are burdened by any none-too-happy occurring, Nolo. They are always sweet, and unfadingly so.”

Nolofinwë smiled, and reaffirmingly placed a hand on Arafinwë’s shoulder. “This is a counsel that I will constantly make use of, Ara. As well as your company. You have a rare talent in relieving me of my burdens, and for that alone you have my most deeply-felt thanks.”

“Your thanks are gladly accepted, brother,” Arafinwë grinned, before he resumed his usual serious yet cheerful-looking face. “For the time being we’d better walk back. Anairë must be fearing for you, and your children no less worried, if you keep not showing up. Try talk with them, if you can bring yourself to it. Some of their questions may not be very easy to answer.”

Nolofinwë nodded. “Will you accompany me, then?”

“I would, if I didn’t have my own wife and children to take care of. They could be no less affected by the earlier incident as yours, and leaving them in the blind is a very indecent thing to do, after all.”

Again Nolofinwë gave a nod to this statement, and abreast the royal brothers walked on their marble path to where Finwë’s house stood, in the direction where incessant winds seemed to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Quenya names in this text:  
> Nolofinwë - Fingolfin  
> Arafinwë - Finarfin  
> Fëanáro - Fëanor  
> Artanis - Galadriel


End file.
